


KissCam

by TurtleTotem



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern: Still Have Powers, Baseball, En Sabah Nur portrayed for us here by Oscar Isaac sans smurf makeup, First Kiss, M/M, Sports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-03
Updated: 2019-12-03
Packaged: 2021-02-18 12:00:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21660481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TurtleTotem/pseuds/TurtleTotem
Summary: Charles's date isn't interested in kissing him for the KissCam. Erik, fortunately, is.
Relationships: En Sabah Nur/Charles Xavier, Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier
Comments: 29
Kudos: 392





	KissCam

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kernezelda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kernezelda/gifts).



> On Tumblr [here](https://turtletotem.tumblr.com/post/189453384326/kisscam).

Charles wasn't much of a sports fan, but he wasn't opposed to attending the Yankees game. He'd been following the story of Yankees player Carl DeMarco, who was fighting to keep his contract after coming out as a mutant. When the very handsome Egyptian immigrant who had become Charles's coffee shop pal suggested they make the Yankees game their first date, therefore, Charles was all for it. He bought a "NY <3 DeMarco" flag, wore his big red M lapel pin, and let En Sabah Nur pick him up in a startlingly expensive Mercedes-Benz.

En Sabah Nur had always been friendly, witty, and attentive at the coffee shop, but today he was distracted, constantly on his phone, and far too smug about his car and his expensive clothes, expecting Charles to be impressed. Charles, who could have bought the clothes, the car, and the coffee shop and still had room for a yacht in his monthly allowance, was _not_ impressed. Just because he preferred broken-in tweed jackets and lowering his carbon footprint with public transit didn't mean he was going to get stars in his eyes at the sight of a Rolex watch.

_Perhaps Raven was right,_ Charles thought with a sigh as he paid for his own hot dog and tried to block out Sabah's irate phone conversation. Raven had seen them together often enough—she worked at the coffee shop, which was why Charles went there—and she was convinced he only wanted Charles for his body.

There were worse things to be wanted for, honestly. It was all very well to be loved for your mind, but Charles had encountered enough telepathy fetishists to find a certain relief in straightforward physical lust.

The two seats on Charles's right had been empty; now, with the game about to start, a man about Charles's age helped a frail but bright-eyed older woman into one of them, and sat down next to Charles himself.

"Hey!" Charles barely rescued his soda from the man's careless elbow.

"Watch it!" the man snapped, as if _Charles_ had been the one at fault, only to pause and grimace when he realized his mistake. "Um… sorry."

"No worries," Charles said lightly. "Of course you're focused on your—mother?"

"Yes," the man said, and turned back to the woman in question, fussing over her comfort until she batted him away with a fond expression. He settled in next to her, looking disgruntled.

"Sorry again, about that," he said after a moment, shooting Charles a sideways glance. "It's too cold out here for her, but she's a big baseball fan—us immigrants have to love the Great American Pastime, right? And she insisted on coming to support DeMarco. You're a fan of his, too?" He nodded at the flag.

"Mutant solidarity!" Charles said, flashing his M pin. "Oh—what's that you've got on yours?"

"Mutant solidarity." The man's grin was all teeth, but in a surprisingly attractive way. In terms of appearance he was right up there with Sabah, in fact, lean and chiseled with fascinating gray-green eyes. It took Charles a moment to force his gaze onto the pin the stranger wore in the same place Charles had his mutant M. This pin was larger and made of multicolored metal, a rainbow flag with an M in the middle, and words along the top and bottom. QUEER FREAK.

"Oh, I love that!" Charles cried. "Where did you get it? I'd love to have one!"

The man's cheeks reddened and he looked suddenly bashful. "I made it. I'm a magnetokinetic—I work with metal." He opened his hand, and the pin lifted from his jacket to settle into Charles's hand.

"That's brilliant!" Charles knew he was getting overexcited in the way Raven always teased him about, but he couldn't help it—the infinite variety of mutation was always so fascinating. "Oh, but I couldn't take yours, you need it to show your support—could I commission one from you? Do you have a card?"

"Sure." The man let his pin return to his jacket, and fiddled in his wallet for a minute before handing Charles a card with a phone number, email address and the words _Erik Lehnsherr, Custom Metalwork._

"What's your mutation?" the man—Erik, the trim-yet-spiky German name fit him perfectly—was asking.

"I'm a telepath," Charles said, and this was always the tricky moment, seeing how a new acquaintance—even another mutant, sometimes especially another mutant—would react.

"Impressive," Erik said, his eyebrows lifting, and his mental sense (even muted by the thick shields Charles had to erect in a crowd like this) was all interest and admiration, no trepidation at all.

"You're a telepath?"

Charles turned toward Sabah's voice, sudden and sharp on his other side. "Yes? Hadn't I mentioned that? I usually do, I'd rather know sooner than later if it's going to be a problem." That last sentence came out stiffer than Charles intended, but this date already hadn't been going well…

But Sabah didn't look panicked or judgmental. He was smiling, with (finally) a spark of focus in his eyes. It should have gratified Charles, but somehow it unsettled him instead. He tried to remember what Sabah had said _his_ mutation was.

"Quiet now, boys, the game is starting!" Erik's frail mother said excitedly, and they all turned their attention to the ballfield.

It wasn't long, though, before Sabah leaned in close to Charles and caught his eye. _Can you hear this, Charles? Can you hear me thinking?_

With an inward sigh, Charles replied, _Yes, I can hear you._

Sabah's smile widened. _That's amazing. What else can you do? Can you…_

The stream of obscene scenarios and intricate fantasies that followed could not have all occurred to En Sabah Nur in the last three minutes.

"I'm trying to watch the game, Sabah," Charles said loudly. "We can discuss all that later."

"Oh, okay," Sabah said in a tone that made Charles wish he'd phrased that differently. Something more like _We won't be discussing that at all._ It wasn't even that Charles was opposed to using his powers in bed; there was indeed some incredible fun to be had that way. But…

Erik, frowning, leaned in close to his other side. "Is this guy bothering you, um… Mister..?"

"Xavier," Charles said automatically. "Charles Xavier. And no, of course not, he's my date, we're just—I'm just—"

"You're just realizing he's a jackass?"

Charles couldn't repress a snort of startled laughter, but was saved from further conversation with either man by DeMarco taking the field. All four of them cheered wildly, waving their flags and, in the case of Erik's mother, unfolding a small banner that she made Erik help her hold up.

The announcers were talking about DeMarco's mutant coming-out, of course, and how various parties were trying to get him disqualified from the league.

"Unbelievable nonsense," Charles said, just as incensed now as the first time he'd heard it. "His mutation doesn't even have anything to do with his performance. The man talks to plants, for heaven's sake."

"It shouldn't matter if his mutation was 'always wins at baseball,'" Erik said next to him. "Everyone's born with natural advantages and disadvantages, they shouldn't penalize DeMarco any more than any other player with the lucky genes for strong arms and long legs."

That sparked a lively argument, which Charles found more intriguing than irritating; Erik had several good points, some of which Charles struggled to refute, and while he criticized Charles's logic without mercy, Erik didn't seem to be remotely angry at him personally.

"What do you think about it, Sabah?" Charles said eventually, chagrined that he had half-forgotten his date.

"Oh, I'm sure you're right, Charles," Sabah said absently, one eye on the game and the other on a text message.

"You're terribly distracted today," Charles said, trying to keep the irritation out of his voice. "Something wrong at work?"

"Oh, you know, there's always something." Taking the hint, Sabah put his phone in his jacket pocket. "If it were easy to take over the world, everyone would do it, right?"

"Er, right," Charles said, trying to remember what it was Sabah did for a living. He was starting to realize he didn't actually know very much about this man, for all of their cozy coffee shop conversations. The 'take over the world' remark had to be a joke, his expression indicated it was a joke, and yet… jokes had a pretty distinctive mental feel, almost like a lie but without the ill intent. That hadn't felt like a joke or a lie to Charles's telepathy.

"What are you and this guy arguing about, anyway?" Sabah asked.

"Mutant rights, what else?"

"Well, I'm in favor of them," Sabah said dryly. "The natural order is for the strong to rule the weak, and mutants are the next step of evolution. Eventually, mere humanity's going to be left in the dust. The sooner the better, in my opinion."

Charles blinked at this calm, confident declaration of a borderline genocidal sentiment. "Well, that's—I mean, mutation _is_ evolution in action, but mutants are _human_ , the next step of humanity, not—I mean we're considerably more alike than not, and there's no reason we can't coexist peacefully—"

"If one or the other has to be on top," Erik said on his other side, "and history suggests one does, it should be mutants. But," he sighed, "in my experience it's a lot easier to say 'screw the baselines' than it is to look at the actual baselines around you and say 'screw you.' My daughter Anya's baseline. My mother's baseline." He jerked a thumb over his shoulder at her, then did a double-take. " _And_ she's taken off her coat! Mama, what are you doing?"

"That one _itches,_ schatz. Look, Frankson is going to take third base—yes, he's doing it! Look at him go!"

"Here, she can wear mine," Charles said, shrugging out of his coat; he had a heavy sweater underneath and was a bit overwarm with both.

"Thanks," Erik said, and bullied his mother into the coat.

"If you think he's wrong about things," Sabah murmured to Charles, "you can just… change his mind, can't you?" His voice was disturbingly sultry.

"I certainly cannot," Charles replied coldly, but Sabah only chuckled and turned his attention back to the game.

When Erik settled back into his seat, Charles, feeling squirmy and embarrassed that Sabah had even brought that up, changed the subject. "You have a daughter, you said?"

"Yeah, married my high school sweetheart before I realized I was gay—big mistake for both of us," oh good, he was single, "but it brought us Anya." He started showing Charles pictures on his phone of an elfin dark-haired nine-year-old.

"Oh, look, she has your chin!"

"Yeah, poor thing…"

Mama Lehnsherr gasped and started slapping at Erik's arm.

"What? Mama, what?" Erik cried in alarm, but she was laughing, pointing at the Jumbotron.

"Look, Erik, we're on the KissCam! Or, no, your new friend and his sweetheart are in the center—"

So they were, Charles saw. Saxophone music swelled through the speakers, and all through the stadium people were laughing and cheering in anticipation. Charles had to admit to being charmed by the idea of being on the KissCam; it was delightfully silly and romantic. He turned to Sabah—

Who was on his phone again, turned entirely away from Charles with his finger in his other ear.

Fine. Actually? More than fine.

"Shall we?" Charles said, turning to Erik on his other side.

Erik's eyes widened. Then he smiled, that wild-looking show of teeth that Charles had instantly found endearing, and leaned in. Their mouths met in a warm, firm press that felt shocking and new and yet strangely familiar, as if some deep unconscious part of him had been expecting this, waiting for this. For Erik.

Charles was dimly aware of applause and catcalls, of a surge of laughter throughout the stadium as Sabah turned around and began sputtering in outrage, but he didn't care. As far as he was concerned, the date was over—and something else, something much better, was about to begin.


End file.
